


Let's Party Forever

by Tarkya



Category: The LEGO Movie (2014)
Genre: Bad ending Au, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-14 00:54:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7992640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarkya/pseuds/Tarkya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lord Business won. All that's left for him to do is admire his work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The sun rose over Bricksburg. Like always, Lord Business was there to see it.

Logically, there was no reason to be there every morning. After all, everything was perfect - every brick was right where it belonged and every person was in their place. He'd made sure of that on Taco Tuesday. But there wasn't much to do in Octan Tower nowadays. Besides, he told himself, what was the point of perfection if he didn't take the time to appreciate it?

He took his time as he walked along the streets, passing by the smiling faces of the frozen citizens. The micromanagers had done their job well - every street was a perfect image of everyday life. He paid them only cursory attention, letting his feet lead the way - he'd seen all of these scenes before, and they never changed. He let his thoughts wander, until he found himself stopping, and realized just where his feet had taken him.

He'd walked to the construction site again. He couldn't seem to help it - no matter what path he took through the city, it seemed like he always ended up here in the end. He really should leave he thought, as he passed by construction workers frozen in the middle of their duties. There was no good reason for being here.

He stopped walking, and sighed. "Hello, Brickowski."

It was funny, in a way - what had once been the most unassuming person in the entire world was now probably the only person he cared to refer to by name. Emmet Brickowski, the man who'd once been known as the Special - but not anymore. He was just another smiling construction worker now.

"Nice day, isn't it?" he said, adjusting his tie. Business knew it was ridiculous, talking to someone who would never respond. "Bricksburg's never looked better." He didn't look at Emmet as he spoke - despite his efforts, he'd never been able to get his face looking right. It was something about the eyes - they always looked a little sad. "I've finally got everything where it belongs, now that no one's messing with my stuff."

The wind filled the silence between them, whistling through the scaffolding. Absentmindedly, he wondered what the former Special would have said, if he would've been angry at him. No, probably not - from the way he'd acted before he'd kragled him for good, he wasn't the kind to get angry. In a way, that was worse.

Business checked his watch, more out of habit than anything else. He didn't have anywhere to go, but he was starting to feel uncomfortable. He couldn't help but wonder if Emmet could actually hear him, even though that was impossible. Probably. "Well, uh… keep up the good work, Brickowski."

He waved, feeling foolish, and went on his way, humming the chorus of what had once been the most popular song in Bricksburg. As he did, he tried to ignore the feeling of being watched.


	2. Chapter 2

Technically, robots weren't programmed to feel fear. They were created for specific purposes, and more human things like emotions just got in the way of getting the job done. There were, however, a number of self-preservation routines needed to keep a robot from getting itself damaged, and Lord Business' sunny disposition set all of them to high alert.

"Ah, you're back!" he said cheerfully, resting his interlocked hands on the desk. "So… your report?"

The robot nodded. "Yes, Lord Business, sir. We have finished our surveys of the walls, and have marked all identified Master Builder bypasses. They've been designated for immediate deconstruction and we should be done within the week."

"Good, good." There was a squeak as Lord Business got up from his chair and turned his back to the robot, rising several plates into the air in the process. "And the search parties? What have they found?"

"Our search parties have swept all known Master Builder hideouts. There is no evidence of post-TAKOS Tuesday activity, sir."

Lord Business was silent. The robot mimed a gulp.

"You know, I'd call myself a pretty patient guy," he said, turning towards the robot with his face all smiles. He walked towards the robot, his boots ticking taller as he descended the stairs, until he was towered twice as tall over it. "I've given you robots aaaaall the time in the world to do this one _simple_ job of finding out where the escaped Master Builders went."

"B-but sir, the Think Tank explosion eliminated them-"

" **NOT ALL OF THEM!** " Lord Business suddenly roared. He grabbed the robot by its collar and raised it to eye level, his face the definition of fury. "I checked every single _stud_ of rubble that came out of that tower, and I _know_ that not everyone was accounted for."

The robot frantically checked its records for an explanation - anything that would get Lord Business to put it down - and latched onto the first reasonable one it could find. "The… the Abyss, sir! With it's proximity to the tower, it's assumed that anyone unaccounted for fell in!"

For a moment, Lord Business's face seemed to relax, and for a moment the robot let itself do the same.

Then Lord Business brought the robot close to his face. " _Emmet Brickowski_ returned from the Abyss, in case you'd forgotten." His eyes narrowed. "Do you really think a Master Builder would be capable of anything less?"

The robot looked away, unable to formulate a reply. With a scoff, Lord Business let it drop to the floor. It made an unpleasant cracking noise as it impacted, and it watched him turn his back through one flickering optic before it shut down.

Lord Business sighed and settled back into his chair, looking down at his desk with a tired expression. "Man, you just can't find good workers these days, eh?" he complained to empty air, before clicking a button on his desk. "Send someone up to my office. There's a mess that needs cleaning up."

"Roger, sir!"

He released the button and spun in his chair. The window behind his desk gave him a beautiful view of Bricksburg as it glittered in the sunlight. Without even thinking about it, he found himself tracing the path to the construction yard. He'd been avoiding it lately - it wasn't really healthy, and it made him think about unpleasant things. Even if Brickowski was probably a better listener than every darn robot in the tower…

No. He wouldn't go back there.

At least, not until tomorrow.


	3. Chapter 3

If there was one thing that got on Bad Cop's nerves at the end of the world, it was the dust.

There had always been dust in small amounts before Taco Tuesday, but never in the quantity it existed in now. Something about the Kragle seemed to attract it like a magnet, forming a growing layer of the stuff that coated the city. Water couldn't remove it, and brushing it off was only a temporary solution - eventually it settled again, often somewhere worse than before. Even worse, it meant that he couldn't help but leave a trail wherever he walked.

The Lord Business Bad Cop had worked for would _never_ let Bricksburg fall into this state.

Of course, he would have liked to think the Lord Business he'd worked for wouldn't have left him for dead either, but he only had to take off his helmet to remind him of the man's instability, even then. Hindsight - _hah_ \- was 20/20, and he'd paid the price. He'd barely escaped the kragle himself that day and had been avoiding the skeletron patrols ever since, watching as the frozen city grew quieter and dustier. Lord Business had won, and now he was neglecting his prize all together.

Well, except for one place.

The construction site was Lord Business's primary haunt. He arrived with the dawn patrols every morning and lingered for hours, cleaning up specks of dust or rearranging the workers. At first the reason he went there was obvious - the construction site was where the Special had been housed, where he _belonged_. It didn't seem strange for the man to to visit the symbol of his victory. Then one day Bad Cop had gotten into earshot, and discovered that Lord Business hadn't been gloating over the Special...

...but _talking_ to him.

Bad Cop had admired Lord Business once, sworn his loyalty to him - and here he was, arguing with a dead man as if he could still talk back. He'd watched it go on for minutes before leaving to avoid the evening patrols, and hadn't gone back since. He knew that Lord Business had deteriorated, just as the city had, but to witness just how far he'd fallen... it was disturbing.

Today though, against his better judgement, he was going back.

The morning patrol had come and gone, but the sun had set without the evening patrol, and the lights of Octan Tower were dead on the horizon. He got close enough to the tower to see the army of robots lined up and silent, but didn't risk going any closer. He didn't know what spark of intuition drove him to investigate the construction site, but as he got closer and saw the dust drifting in the glaring spotlights he became confident that he was on the right track. He abandoned stealth for efficiency, kicking up a cloud as he ran. Whatever level of strangeness Lord Business had fallen to, he was going to find out today-

Bad Cop froze in his tracks.

The construction yard was a mess. The equipment, buildings, and even parts of the floor had been torn apart, with bits of stiff, glistening kragle hanging off the free edges. Construction workers and deactivated skeletrons had been tossed about like Bad Cop tossed chairs, and he even found a torn scrap of Lord Business's cape lying on the ground. It was like a storm had come through, but what was the most shocking wasn't what was there, but what wasn't.

The Special was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

" _He's your son, for god's sake. Go and talk to him. And I mean_ really _talk to him."_

With his wife's words still ringing in his ears, the person known by some as the Man Upstairs, by his wife as Bill, and his son as… well, nothing good lately, found himself standing at his son's door once more.

How many times had he stood here, mentally reciting speech after speech while counting every scratch and mar in the paint until they were all he could think about? How many times had he gone in only to find his words catching in his throat, and found himself filling the silence with idle talk and admonitions instead of what really needed to be said? And his son would simple nod or grunt in bare acknowledgement, or worse, would give him _that_ look, one that seemed so very disappointed…

Bill slid a hand down his face with a sound that was halfway between a groan and a laugh. Here he was, a grown man, and he was fearing the disappointment of his _son_ , of all people. No wonder his wife was getting annoyed.

He found his hand going to his pocket, seeking out the tiny chunk of molded plastic and paint that he knew was there. The construction man minifig, the one his son had spilled super glue on way, had become something of a mystery to him. There was nothing special about it, really; he could go to the store and find the set it'd come with, or put it together from bits and pieces himself. But to his son he'd been the hero of his chaotic imagination play, and the moment he'd taken it away from him and put it back where it belonged…

...the look on his son's face…

Well, things hadn't gotten much better after that, and Bill was convinced that the little construction man had something to do with it.

A cough from down the hallway interrupted his thoughts and made him jump. He turned to see his wife glaring at him, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. She gestured with her head towards the door - Bill made a face in response, and she rolled her eyes before gesturing more urgently. He looked away, back at the door with its assorted drawings and magazine clippings, took a deep breath, and knocked.

"Finn? I'm coming in."

There was no response, but Bill opened the door anyway. The curtain was drawn open, letting in the last orange beams of the setting sun. It illuminated the messy chaos of the room - the scattered clothing, the box of LEGO pieces collecting dust in the corner… and his son, sitting at his desk, reading a tattered library book. For a moment, his eyes flickered up to Bill, before settling back on the pages. "...yeah?"

He found his words catching in his throat again, his mind darting for any way to avoid a subject he really, really didn't want to broach, and latched onto the first thought he found. "You… uh, really need to clean your room."

"Okay."

A turn of the page, loud in the silence. Bill let his eyes slide over to the box of LEGO pieces. He'd moved them upstairs when he'd finished his project in the basement - there wasn't any reason to encourage Finn to mess around with it anymore. He hadn't touched them since, to the point where Bill could almost identify the surface pieces by catalog number. He cleared his throat and turned his attention back to his son. "What are you reading?"

"A book." _Flip_.

"And what's it about?"

"Stuff."

Were kids supposed to get like this so young? Bill had always assumed he at least had until teenagerhood to prepare for this level of contrariness. For a moment he was frustrated with his son for doing this to him. Why couldn't he just _talk_ to him and tell him what he was sulking about?

_Why don't you ask him yourself?_

Oh, how he wished he could. They said that actions spoke louder than words, though, and today he was ready to test that out. Bill squeezed his hand around the minifig in his pocket tight enough that he was afraid it'd break, and then placed it on the desk with a quiet click.

His son stared at the minifig for a moment, his expression unreadable, then carefully set his book aside. He picked it up, moving the arms and legs - it'd taken a while for Bill to remove most of the superglue, and he's accidentally gotten some of the paint in the process, but it was as mobile as he could make it.

"Dinner will be ready soon. You should get cleaned up," Bill said, carefully retreating from the room as his mind whirled. What was he thinking, anyway? Giving his son a piece of plastic and paint was even less of a conversation than his previous attempts. It was so _stupid_ -

"Dad?"

He could almost feel his heart stop, and he turned to look at his son's… oh, what was he doing, at _Finn_ 's face. Finn was looking at him almost curiously, the minifig still playing through his hands. "Yeah?"

"...it's Taco Tuesday, right?"

For a moment Bill blinked, taken off guard by what was probably the longest sentence he'd heard from Finn in... a long time. Somehow, he couldn't help but smile.

"Nah. We're trying something different tonight."


End file.
